


Costumed Craving

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Mystery, Sexual Content, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: Bog and Marianne cross paths one Halloween night and find an irresistible attraction.  Is it mere coincidence?  Why is Bog experiencing unusual changes?  And why is Marianne so...strange?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Donotquestionme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donotquestionme/gifts), [Pikuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikuna/gifts), [RoyalFlushGang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalFlushGang/gifts).



> Work is a gift to TaMi, as well. Thank you all for your amazing lofe and support!   
> And Happy Halloween!!! <3

“Oh my god, Dawn!  Look at that guy!”

“Which guy?”

“The one dressed as Elvis!”

“Where?”

“Right  _there_!  In the corner, by the piano.”

Dawn peered out over the ocean of costumed bodies drinking and/or dancing to Bobby Pickett’s hammy narration of the  _Monster Mash_ , and when her gaze landed on her sister’s object of interest, she frowned.

“…He’s not dressed as Elvis!”

“Yes, he is!”

“He looks like a prison inmate!”

“From  _Jailhouse Rock_ , duh!  The King didn’t just wear those stupid leisure suits, you know!”

“Ugh, _whatever_ , ya nerd!  So, what about him?”

Marianne grinned, eyes practically glowing like the jack-o’-lanterns in the windows.

“He’s the one.”

“What,  _really_?  You want _him_?”

“ _Yeah_ , I  _do_. Got a problem with it?”

“I didn’t say that, Ms. Sensa- _tits_.  I just…didn’t think that was your type; all tall, pale, and  _scary_.”

“Girl, right now, my type is the exact  _opposite_  of my cheating ex. Besides, his costume proves he’s a true Elvis fan, so we’ve already got a lot in common.  And I  _like_  scary.”

Releasing a puff of laughter, Dawn reassessed said  _fan_.

“Hmm…I do like his eyes, though.  That is one pretty pair of baby blues.”

“Uh- _huh_!”

“Well, okay.  I approve; not that you needed me to, anyway. Go have your little  _revenge-on-Roland-romp_.  Best of luck, sis.”

“Thanks.”

“And try not to break him.”

Marianne winked and gave the push-up bra under her costume a little nudge.

“I make no promises.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bog winced and groaned as he buried himself deeper into his navy blankets, trying to escape from the annoying sun beams streaming in through the window.  Unfortunately, his bladder was not on board with his plan to get more sleep.  He lurched from the comfort of his empty bed with the graceful coordination of a slug, and stumbled into the bathroom to relieve himself.  After washing his hands, he did a quick check of his small apartment, not caring for his nudity, though he still had to dizzily shuffle along and brace his arms against the wall for balance.

“Hello?”

No answer.

Grumbling, he returned to his room and flopped back down on the bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling, and as he grew more and more awake, his memories became clearer.  

Brown hair…

Whiskey eyes…

Creamy skin…

And purple….

So much purple!

Bog shifted and a tired moan passed his lips as his whole body throbbed from the action.

_Jesus Christ, what the hell did she_ **do** _to me last night?_

He hadn’t even wanted to go to that stupid party.  His obnoxiously dating best friends had all but physically forced him to, under the logic that either getting drunk or laid would loosen that perpetual stick up his ass.

Well, maybe they had a point…not that he’d ever admit it to Steph and Theo out loud.  Sure, he was groggy and sore all over, but along with the natural warm satisfaction of having slept with a  _gorgeous_  woman, underneath all that muscular exhaustion, he felt strangely stimulated.   _Eager_.  Like he could run a mile.  No, not just run.  Full on  _sprint_!  

He hadn’t been in this good of a mood in almost two years!  Was this normal for a casual hook-up?  ‘Cause if so, he could certainly see the appeal.  To think of all the money he could’ve saved on Prozac and coffee, when apparently all he needed was a nice, hard  _fuck_.  

Still…

One-night-stands weren’t his thing, and he couldn’t help the frown that marred his face when he thought about how he’d woken up alone.  No kiss goodbye, no note.  Heck, he would’ve been  _glad_ to make breakfast for her!  It was the very  _least_  he could do!  

_Marianne…_

The dark fairy princess in her costume of tattered wings, black lace, and purple satin…

The wild thing that had clung to him as if her very life depended on it.  Scratching, nipping, kissing, pulling at nearly every inch of his gangly form! He could’ve  _drowned_  in her blatantly fierce desire for him!  Even if it was only pretend, he deeply appreciated the sense of being  _wanted_  that much.

It was foolish to be so bummed about her being gone.  What did he expect?  She’d probably taken one sober look at him in the morning light and run for the hills.

Bog sighed and sat up. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it, but behind his rough, brooding mask, he’d always been sensitive about his looks, or lack thereof, to be more precise.  He just…thought they’d made a stronger connection beyond a simple fling.

_She loves The King.  She got my costume._

Cracking his neck, Bog swiped his discarded boxer briefs off the floor and slipped them on, but when he stood to his feet, it seemed as if all the blood rushed to his head, and he staggered a few steps before catching himself on the dresser.  His pulse-rate remained normal, but oddly powerful. He could feel his whole chest twitching with each steady, thundering beat.  Gradually, it ceased, and he placed a hand over his much quieter heart, where coincidentally, a purple-smudged hickey marked the spot.

_Weird…_

Moseying into his kitchen, he found himself to be lacking an appetite, so he opted for just a swig of milk straight from the carton.  Oh, the fit his mother would’ve thrown, but he lived under his own roof now.  

As he sipped, a random thought occurred to him.  Mundane at first, but the more he mulled it over, the more it puzzled him:  

They’d taken his car to his apartment last night, and it had been about a fifteen-minute drive from the party.  If she wasn’t here, did she actually walk out all by herself, after midnight, on Halloween?  

_Or did she-?_

Bog’s eyes snapped to the ceramic bowl on his coffee table, and the momentary panic surging in his brain eased at the sight of his keys, right where they belonged.  

Chuckling at his assumptions, Bog put away the milk and walked back to his bedroom, intent on properly dressing himself and going for that run.  But later, when he emerged, dressed and with keys in hand, he paused and peered at his front door in confusion.

It was still double locked from the inside.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh my god!  Oh my god, Dawn, oh my god!  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my  _god_!”

“What is it, sister dear?  And can it wait ‘til I finish my coffee?”

“No, it can’t!  I am totally  _screwed_!”

“I figured as much after I saw you leave with Elvis.”

“Dawn!  I mean I did something really  _bad_  last night!”

“…”

“Stop grinning at me!  I’m  _serious_!”

“What did you do, kill him?”  Dawn joked, pouring the rest of her mug down the drain.

“Worse!  I…I did the  _thing_.”

The cup clattered into the sink.

“…You  _what_?”

“THE THING!  THE THING!  I DID THE  _THING_!!!”

“THE  _THING_?!  WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DID THE THING?!  HOW COULD YOU DO THE  _THING_?!”

“I don’t know!  I just  _happened_!”

“No, no, no, no!  You know better than anyone that the  _thing_  doesn’t just ‘happen’!  It’s not like a  _burp_ , for Christ’s sake!”  

“Oh god, oh god…this is  _awful_!  What am I gonna do?  What am I gonna  _do_?!”

“Alright, calm down. Just breathe.  It’s…it’s  _unexpected_ , but not the end of the world.  In fact, you  _could_  say it’s…just the beginning!”

“Get real, Dawn.  I’ve told you a million times, I’ve sworn off all that crap!”

“Yeah, because of one cheating asshole, but this is  _different_!  You actually did the thing!”  

“I don’t care!  It was a mistake!”

“Nature doesn’t make mistakes!”

“Well, there’s always a first time!”  

“Why are you so upset about this?  I thought you liked him!  What, was he lousy in bed?”

“ _Hell_ , no!  He was-!  THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT!  I just can’t see him again!”

“And how do you expect to do that?  Lock yourself in the attic?  You know can’t avoid  _this_!”

Marianne lifted her chin, never one to back down from a challenge.

“Oh,  _can’t_  I?”

“No, but I’m sure gonna get kick outta watching you try.”


	4. Chapter 4

A cheerful rendition of Grieg’s  _In the Hall of the Mountain King_  whistled past Bog’s lips as he unloaded the groceries from the back of his truck.  It had been quite a week, and he was probably in the strangest good mood he’d ever had in his life.  

All because of that Marianne.

His alarm and confusion at the door still being locked last weekend was abated after a few moments of investigation.  He’d checked all the closets, behind the shower curtain, and under the bed, to be safe, then moved to the windows, only to find each one exactly as he’d left it before he went to the party; shut and fastened.  Well, of  _course_!  They were on the second floor!  

Then he noticed the patio door.  It was unlatched.  

Bog often left it that way since he sometimes liked to sit out on the balcony with a beer and watch the sunset while listening to music.  

Could she have climbed down?  She  _must_  have, there was no other way.  If she’d been careful enough, Bog supposed is was  _possible_  to make the drop without injury.  There was soft grass below instead of concrete, and she seemed like the athletic type.

Still, it was really  _weird_.  Wouldn’t it have been much easier to just wake him up and say she had to leave?      

_Guess she regretted it more than I thought…_

His funk over  _that_ estimation lasted three days, until lo and behold, he was shopping at JC Penny’s for a new belt, when who should he  _literally_  bump into when striding around a clothing rack?

She looked about as shocked as he was, but when Bog tried to save face with a cordial greeting after a few moments of stunned silence, her cheeks bloomed scarlet and she ducked her head, just murmuring a flat reply.  When his few attempts at idle conversation were blocked by low, monosyllabic answers, he felt his stomach twist.  Clearly, she was uncomfortable and did  _not_ want to see nor talk to him.  Feeling hurt and ashamed, he almost apologized, but instead muttered a solemn goodbye and began to head for the register.

But a hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks.  

Instantly, he was whirled around and a pair of purple lips crashed against his own.  Before Bog could even process the  _completely_  unexpected turn of events, he was dragged through the store to the men’s dressing rooms, shoved into a stall, and kissed  _again_!  

Psh!  No,  _kissed_ wasn’t the right word.  More like, devoured, ravaged, or  _conquered_!

And he could barely keep up  _mentally_ , let alone physically!  Boy, it never felt so great to be wrong!  He wanted it to go on forever.  All of his doubt and self-deprecation vanished like sand in a windstorm with every nip of her teeth and stoke of her searing tongue.    

None of which prepared him for what happened next.

In a matter of seconds, she’d dropped to her knees, unzipped his pants, and had him deep in her throat!  Bog  _literally_  had to bite his fist to keep from crying out and alerting a sales rep.  He couldn’t believe what was happening!  It had to be a  _dream_!  This sort of situation didn’t happen in real life, and  _especially_  not to ugly guys like him!  

His orgasm struck with all the speed and ferocity of an avalanche, buckling his knees until he slumped over onto the little stool in the corner, a sweaty, panting mess…

…then he must’ve blacked out, for the last thing he remembered, was Marianne slowly lifting his shirt to kiss and nuzzle his chest.

A glance at his watch told him it’d only been about fifteen minutes or so, but just like before, Marianne was gone.  

In a daze, he made his purchase and stumbled out of the JC Penny, equal parts elated and puzzled.  

He’d soon become very familiar with this peculiar combination of emotions, when he ended up have two more similar encounters.  In the local park, Thursday evening.  They’d randomly met on the otherwise deserted jogging trail, where he eventually managed to thoroughly return her earlier favor behind some bushes, and then again just yesterday afternoon against the mall’s bathroom wall after spotting each other in the food court.  

There was no denying that this was exciting and hot as  _fuck_ , and part of him didn’t want to bother questioning it and risk ruining the, for lack of a better term:  _magic_  between them; but for whatever mysterious reason, Bog always ended up losing consciousness for a short time afterwards and waking up alone.  It was enough to worry him, and if these… _meetings_  kept up, he decided it might not be a bad idea to try and actually  _talk_ to Marianne, if she didn’t  _distract_ him again.

Once in the kitchen, Bog deposited his bags on the counter and started putting the groceries away. Releasing a sigh, he silently prayed these would last, even as he began munching on an apple in the middle of his task.  He may have been doing well as an independent sound editor, but that didn’t mean he was Richie Rich. 

This was the  _fourth_  time he’d been to the supermarket in the last seven days; and he lost nearly as much sleep.  The energy from that lonely Sunday morning hadn’t gone away.  He was so restless and alert, like a caged animal.  It was as if he was  _craving_  something, hell if he knew what, though, since he just couldn’t seem to stop eating.

Geez,  _why_  was he so  _hungry_?  


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, Marianne.”

“HI!  Dawn,  _hi_! Hey!  Hello!  H-h-how are ya?”  

“…”

“…”

“I’m  _fine_ , sister.  How are  _you_?”

“Good!  Really good.  Couldn’t be gooder-!   _Greater_!  I MEAN  _BETTER_!”

“Is that so?  ‘Cause it sounds like you swallowed a rubber duck.”

“Huh?”

“Your voice hasn’t been that squeaky since the third grade.”  

“Oh!  Oh, uh…I’m just a little hyper, that’s all.  I s-saw some Christmas decorations at the supermarket today. You know how much I love the holidays!”

“That, I do.”  Dawn sniffed the air, and peered at the brunette.  “What’s that scent your wearing?”

“It’s, eh…it’s……new.”

“Smells like Old Spice.”

“I…must’ve picked it up by mistake at the store.”

“Must have.  And what’s that on your neck?”

“What’s what?”

“What’s that  _red_  mark on your neck, under your ear?”

“Ah!  Um, that…would…be…a zit!”

“A  _zit_?”

“Yeah, I…p-popped it.”

“M’kay,  _ew_.  Have you eaten today?”

“Er-”

“Never mind.  How’s your man?”

“Wh-?  Ho-how should I know?  I haven’t seen him s-since after the party!  And he’s  _not_  my man!”

“Fine.  Squeeze, boy toy, booty call-”

“Would you  _stop_ , please?!”

“Then let me use the  _proper_  term.”

“NO.  There  _is_  no proper term other than ‘ _complete and totally meaningless stranger_ ’.”

“Ugh!  I can’t understand you at all!  I thought this was what you always wanted!”

“ _Where_  did you ever  _that_ crazy idea?”

“From  _you_ , you lunatic!  You used to dream about this happening for  _years_!  Then that bastard, Roland came along and-”

“And proved that all that garbage is nothing but trouble!  Painful, miserable, trouble!”

“Marianne, the only thing that should be  _painful_ right now, is how obvious it is that Roland was just never meant for you! How many times do I have to say it?  _This_  is  _different_!  You did the  _thing_! He’s the  _one_ , just like you told me!”

“That’s  _not_  what I meant when I said that!”

“What does it matter? It’s  _fate_!”

“ _Listen_  to me, Dawn. Fate is a  _fairy-tale_ , and fairy-tales are for  _children_.  I’m outta those chains, and I’m  _glad_. I swore I would never be stupid and let myself get hurt  _ever_  again.”

After a long beat of heavy silence, a comforting hand touched Marianne’s wrist.

“…It’s not a crime, Marianne.”

“What?”

“To  _like_  him; you act like it’s a crime, but it’s  _not_.  In fact, in my experience with Sunny, it actually helps quite a bit.”

“Who…who says I  _like_  him?!  I-I’ve washed my hands of that guy!  Bog was just a good lay, and nothing more!”

“Ah, so his name is  _Bog_?  Kinda unusual, but cute.”

“Whatever!  I’m telling you, I don’t care if I  _never_  see him again!  I’ve kicked him like a bad habit!   _I_ am  _not_  defined by nature!   _I’m_  in complete control of  _me_!”

“Sure, sure.  You know your top’s inside out.”

“ ** _@#$% @#$%  @#$%_**!!!”


	6. Chapter 6

Bog sat outside on his balcony watching the sun as it sank behind the tall trees dotting the residential neighborhood that ran alongside his apartment complex.  The only difference from the norm was the lack of a beer bottle in his hand and his haggard expression.  

It was now four and a half weeks since that Halloween party.  The nip in the air confirmed that winter was fast approaching, but Bog’s blue sheepskin jacket was still in the closet.  He didn’t seem to feel the chill.  Or at least, it didn’t seem to  _bother_  him anymore.

Yet another weird entry to his ‘the-fuck-is-going-on-with-me?’ list.  

After another week, he’d given up on binging, much to the relief of his bank account.  The odd, restless craving was still there, but he’d managed to determine that his body was only  _instinctually_ assuming it was food he wanted.  Yet no matter what he tried, nothing satisfied him.  Not even his mother’s famous Thanksgiving dinner.

Bog had always had a good appetite, especially for his mom’s cooking, but when even  _she_  pointed out that he might be overdoing it, something was definitely wrong.

 _Honey, I didn’t even eat that much when I pregnant with you_!  

On top of that, he’d had  _three_  more of those…heart palpitations.  They were random and just as frighteningly strong as the first.  It was really starting to scare him.  If it was serious, then he might have to go to…

Shuddering, Bog hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller.

Bog  _hated_  hospitals.  They reminded him of those terrible months when he was fifteen, and his father was wasting away from lung cancer.  He remembered it all, clear as glass.  The once mighty and fearsome Briar King drying up like a raisin, spewing so much anger and bitterness from his constant pain and growing weakness, eventually followed by his quiet, unsettling acceptance of his impending death, and then watching his pallor turn a horrible, greyish yellow as he was at last taken off his life support.

Ever since then, Bog experienced a terrible anxiety when it came to hospitals.  Even driving past one made him uncomfortable.  Over the summer, when his childhood friend Brutus and his wife were having their baby at St. Mary’s, Bog of course had to be there for them, but his hands were shaking the whole time.  He had to sit beside a large window in the waiting room to keep his breathing even, and like a nervous toddler, he made sure his mother didn’t leave his sight as she chatted with Brutus’s parents.

It sucked feeling so helpless, and what was worse, was that Bog had allowed his fear to make stupid decisions about his health.  While his mother had taken up water aerobics, ate less processed meats in favor of more whole grains and beans, and visited the doctor more often after his father’s passing, Bog avoided even the simplest routine checkups.  

What if they found something?  

Something  _deadly_?

And then sent him to the hospital…

…where they’d put him in one of those hideous beds…

…in their soulless, cream-colored rooms…

…so they could stick him all over with needles…

…and never let him leave…

…until the damn EKG machine sang that final prolonged note?

Bog dragged his hands across his face and took a deep breath to quell the inner tremors rising from his thoughts.  He needed to calm down.  For all he knew, a panic attack could trigger another palpitation.  Plus, he’d finally forced himself into the clinic on Monday.

Dr. Plum had been his parents’ physician and friend since before Bog was born, so he trusted her like an aunt, even if she could be a bit overly-eccentric for his personal taste. All that mattered was that she was good at her job, and she  _cared_.

Too bad she couldn’t give him any solid answers.  

_You’re the healthiest thirty-one-year-old man I’ve ever seen, sweetie.  You say you’ve been eating quite a lot lately, but you haven’t gained a single pound since your mother dragged you here six months ago when you had that nasty flu.  Now you said you’re not experiencing any chest discomfort, dizziness, fainting, or shortness of breath with your palpitations, but I’ll run a few tests just in case, and I’m going to increase your Prozac strength to 40mg to counteract your anxiety.  In the meantime, I want you to take it easy and enjoy yourself, okay?  You’d be surprised at how often all this mystery turns out to be nothing more than stress._

Bog had wisely kept his mouth shut and thanked her, but he seriously doubted that any of this was because of  _stress_.  What did he have to be stressed about?  He had a great job, that  _he_  was in control of.  He was independent.  He was apparently healthy.  He even had a special someone now…

After running into Marianne again at the supermarket two days after their steamy encounter at the mall, he decided to take the plunge.  She couldn’t distract him, there were too many witnesses around, and no convenient places to hide and get racy in a grocery store, so he asked her to have dinner with him.  

There was a lump in his throat as he watched the confliction play on her face, but when she’d given him a hopeful smile and accepted, he could’ve done a somersault right there in the bread aisle.  

Then they may or may not have made out for a while in his truck after making their purchases.  It was nice to actually  _see_  her leave for once.

They’d gone out on quite a few dates since then.  Dinner, lunch, movies, dancing, hiking, the amusement park, the museum, even the 80s arcade!  

And Bog was loving it all!

He’d never enjoyed talking to someone as much as he did Marianne.  It was amazing how much they realized they had in common, besides sex and an appreciation for classic Elvis; she’d even chuckled at the cosmic humor of Bog’s last name being ‘King’.  They both loved horror movies, rock & roll, video games, Chinese food, history, camping, and urban exploration.  She liked to sing and collect swords, and she taught boxing in her own gym.  She’d also lost a parent, too; her mother to a plane crash in 1996.  

Furthermore, she knew what it was like to have your heart broken.  To Bog’s shock, her fiancé had cheated on her the day before their wedding. What a complete and utter dumbass!    

In Bog’s case, it had been about two years since he’d been dumped by the woman he thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  It hurt like a bitch, but in all honesty, he should’ve seen it coming. The warning signs were all there, and he would’ve noticed them, if he hadn’t been so blinded by the aesthetic.

Not that Marianne didn’t have enough of  _that_  going on herself.  Sometimes, Bog would look at her and just…forget how to speak.  She was so beautiful and fun and tough and  _different_.

He knew he was dangerously close to having it  _really_  bad for her, and she certainly wasn’t doing anything to discourage him.

The dating hadn’t stopped their fooling around, and whenever it got  _that_  far, Bog would still pass out and wake up alone, but thankfully, Marianne had cooled it when it came to trying anything to hot and heavy in public. Lately, she’d wait until they got to his place, but one of these days, by God, he was gonna make her breakfast before she left!

Being around Marianne made almost everything better.  The awful craving seemed… _less_  so, when she was near.  No palpitations, no hunger, no funk.  He felt stronger and more care free with her.    

Which was why he was out here right now.  Plum had called an hour ago to tell him that all the tests she’d run came back negative. In her own words, his heart was practically in mint condition.  

Then she’d asked him a certain question.

_I want you to call me immediately if something else happens.  But before I go, you said your symptoms started the morning after a Halloween party, correct?  Can you think of anything else that might’ve happened around that time, Bog?  Anything strange at all?_

Bog thought back...

He’d opened his own beer bottle that night and hadn’t set it down until he threw it away.  He didn’t eat any of the food, because he’d had Subway beforehand. He hadn’t even smoked the joints some of the guests were passing around.

So, there wasn’t-

Without warning, an image of a brown-eyed, dark fairy temptress walking towards him through a crowd of costumes came to the forefront of his mind….

_No._

No, that was just crazy!

He’d told Plum he didn’t have a clue, and hung up.

It  _was_  crazy…

_…right?_

He didn’t go inside until well after dark.


	7. Chapter 7

“Holy cow, Marianne! Boggy is just  _adorable_!”

“Bog.”

“I mean, it was sweet enough of him to invite us all to lunch, but to pick up the tab, too?  I tell ya, sis, if I wasn’t so completely head over heels for my husband, you’d have some competition!”  

“Uh-huh.”

“And I  _love_  his accent!  Scottish, right?”

“Yup.”

“I know Sunny’s glad to finally have someone to talk soccer with!”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously, Marianne, he is  _awesome_!  I can’t  _wait_  for you to make him part of the family!”

“…”

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

“…”

“Helloooooooo…?”

*sniffle*

“Wh-?  Marianne, are you-?  Are you  _crying_?”

“N-n-no…”

“You are  _too_!  What’s the matter?  What are you crying for?”

“…”

“ _Well_?”

“…Dawn, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“I’m so  _scared_.”

“ _Why_?”

“I’ve…I’ve never felt this way before.  It was never like this with Roland; not even  _close_.”

“Um,  _yeah_.  Because Roland wasn’t the  _one_ , remember?  We’ve been over this.”

“But he still hurt me so bad, Dawn.  I mean, I was gonna  _marry_  the guy.  House, kids, the whole  _shebang_!”

“…And with Bog?”

Marianne’s clutched her pixie-cut hair in her hands for a moment in silence as more tears fell.

“With Bog……with Bog, I want so much  _more_.  He…he feels as natural to me as my right hook.”

“Glad you’re being  _honest_  about it now.  That’s perfectly  _normal_ , Marianne.  There’s nothing to get so upset about.”

“Yes, there  _is_!  After Roland cheated, I…I got over it.  I toughened up!  I opened my gym; I  _made_ something of myself!  But if…if Bog doesn’t want this. If he doesn’t want  _m-me_ , I…it’s just too much!  It’ll  _destroy_  me.  I  _know_  it, I can  _feel_  it!”    

“Marianne, that’s crazy talk!  You  _did_  the  _thing_!  He’s  _meant_  to accept this!  Just like Sunny did.  And his friend, Pare, for cousin Lizzy.  Uncle Paul, grandma, great-great aunt Marcia.  And that’s just in our  _own_ family!  The list goes on and on throughout  _history_ , Marianne!  You  _know_  that!”  

“…”

“…”

“I  _love_  him, Dawn.  I  _really_  love him.”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t wanna lose this.”

Dawn wrapped her arms around her trembling sister.

“You  _won’t_.  Trust me, I was just as nervous as you; having exactly what I’d always wanted right there in front of me, waiting for somebody to yell ‘PSYCH!’ or for my alarm clock to go off, but it  _didn’t_.  I trusted my instincts, and now I’m the happiest married blonde you’ll ever meet.”

“Heh…”

“Got any plans with Bog today?”

“No, he’s got a lot of work to catch up on this weekend, but he wants me to meet his mom next Thursday.”

“But that’s the 24th!  …Oooooooh, he wants to take you home for  _Christmas_!  That is so  _CUUUUUUUUUTE_!!!”

Marianne broke free of her sister’s hug.  

“Gah, stop that!  I hate when your voice gets higher every syllable!”  

“Girl, this is  _big_!  He wants you to meet his  _mom_!  The same mom he told you is  _obsessed_  with getting him  _married_?  I’d say this is  _extra_  proof you have  _nothing_  to worry about!”

*sigh*

“So…when are you gonna tell him?  It’s been like a month and a half; he’s bound to have started  _noticing_  things.”

“Soon.”  

“How soon?”

“Don’t rush me.”

“I’m not rushing you, but Dad says the longer you wait, the more dangerous-”

“After Christmas; I  _promise_.”

“..Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

It’s amazing how quickly things can go from bad to worse, especially during a time when all is supposed to be  _right_  with the world.  

At first, still with the strange physical or perhaps  _mental_  ailments aside, everything was coming up roses. Bringing Marianne to meet his mother on Christmas Eve had been a huge success.  Griselda King had been so desperate for her ‘sad and lonely’ son to find romance again, she probably would’ve been pleased if he’d brought a jellyfish home, but a  _human_  woman would give her grandchildren.  

The two women had gotten along remarkably well; they both had a feistiness interwoven with humor, but also an underlying sense of frankness. Bog had sensed it at various points in their conversation, the brief and silent exchange of warnings: a parent who would protect their son from ill-intentioned females, and a woman who would protect her lover from doubt of sincerity.    

Apparently having passed the test, it didn’t take long for Griselda to start not-so-subtley dropping the word ‘marriage’ and other such synonyms around Marianne like china plates on a hard wood floor.  Bog  _thought_ he would feel more embarrassed about it, especially since, despite having known Marianne only a short while, he  _had_ secretlybeen giving the idea  _some_  casual thought, but when he caught sight of the lovely blush and sheepish smile on Marianne’s purple lips as his mother kept on blabbering, whatever reprimand or change of subject he was going to offer just vanished.

But then she’d glanced at him, with those beautiful, big brown eyes filled with a strange sort of hesitant question in them, as if…

He couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d been struck by lightning.

…as if she was asking  _his_  approval on the matter.

Did-?  Did she-?  No way!  Did she actually  _want_ to?!

Bog could hardly believe it, but unfortunately, they didn’t get a chance to discuss it in private, Griselda was a class-A chatterbox, and all too soon, it was dark out and Marianne had to go home to spend the rest of the holiday evening and following day with her own family, so Bog and his mother could prepare for their company that would be coming to visit the next morning.  

He’d kissed Marianne hard before she left, and she’d reciprocated with even greater fire, stirring his hopes for the possible future he was seriously considering pursuing once again.    

But then all went to hell…

Bog had never been one for crowds.  Even among his own family, he preferred to sit quietly in the corner, and  _this_  gathering was no exception.  While his numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins mingled throughout the house, Bog sat by the front window drapes, halfheartedly nursing a beer, and trying to drown them all out.  For some reason, they all seemed so much  _louder_  this year.  He could even hear his mother, clear as a bell from the kitchen all the way on the  _other_  side of the house, happily telling her sisters about Marianne, her so-called ‘future daughter-in-law’.  

By the 26th, most of his relatives had left, but by late afternoon, Griselda and a moodier than usual Bog, welcomed Brutus and his wife and baby for  _their_  gift exchange.  It was clear that the new parents were  _exhausted_ , and Bog, desperate to avoid socializing while feeling so inexplicably tense, volunteered to give the fussy infant her bottle in one of the guest bedrooms.      

No argument was given, and soon Bog was alone with the squalling baby, sitting in the rocking chair, and feeding her her formula.  When it was obvious the reluctant infant had all she cared to accept, Bog gently burped her and focused on trying to get her down for a nap.  Humming a Scottish lullaby his father used to sing to him, Bog propped the baby up on his right shoulder, her little cheek resting against his clavicle as he rocked back and forth.  She was a stubborn one, though; whimpering and squirming, so Bog tucked his chin a bit to make her hear him better…

…but then the tune faded out…

…and that craving inside him suddenly rose like the tide, stronger than it ever had before.

It happened so quickly. One minute he was just innocently sitting there with the crying, kicking baby, and the next, as if in a trance, his lips tingled until his mouth parted and all at once, something was flowing into him. Not quite water, not quite air, but whatever it was, it was sweet and rich and  _exactly_  what he’d been hungry for these past weeks.  It slid down his throat and spread to every corner of his body, filling him with such strength and ease, like the greatest deep-tissue massage imaginable.  

For as long as he could take in a single inhale, he reveled in this sensation, and he would’ve eagerly swallowed more, if it weren’t for one vital detail:

Silence.

Rearing back, Bog saw to his astonishment and terror that the infant had gone limp in his arms.    

His heart about stopped right then and there, were it not for the gentle rise and fall of her breathing beneath his hand.  She’d only fallen asleep, but Bog was no less spooked.  

How could she have konked out so fast?  

Was it because of… _him_?

DID HE DO SOMETHING TO THE BABY?!

“Thanks, Bog,” a voice whispered, “you’re a life-saver!”

Flinching, Bog turned to see Brutus’s wife, Monica, entering the room to carefully take her slumbering daughter into her arms.  She didn’t seem to notice her friend’s stricken expression, so while she busied herself with settling her infant into the bed, Bog stood on shaky legs and stumbled into the hallway.  

Without even bothering to grab his shoes, Bog hobbled out the back door and into the early December evening.  His misting breath came in rapid puffs as he shambled out of his mother’s backyard and into the alley, trying in vain to make sense of what just happened.  In a few yards, the path led to the back of an open lot used as a neighborhood park, and when Bog reached the chain-link fence, he froze.

Running around among the swing sets and jungle gyms under the watchful eye of their parents, were about ten to fifteen kids, all bundled up against the winter cold.  Watching them brought the memory of that mysterious substance Bog had just consumed to his undivided attention; the exquisite taste, the surge of power, the peerless sense of repose.  

One of the young boys paused in his play, noticing the strange, tall man, and to Bog’s horror, he found himself hoping the curious child would come closer… _closer_ …

…so he could snatch him up!

“HEY!  HEY,  _YOU_!”

Thank God, the angry shout broke the spell, and Bog staggered back from the fence as if he’d been slugged.  The mothers were frantically beckoning their children to their sides, while several of the fathers were furiously stalking in Bog’s direction, no doubt intending to beat him up for creeping on their kids.    

Aghast at himself, Bog fled blindly through the network of dark alleyways.  His bare feet slapped the slick, dirty pavement, and though the wind blew, the chill did not bite his coatless arms, nor his uncovered head.  

Too bad everything else did.  

As he ran Bog’s senses were assaulted to near madness.  The few random cars passing on the adjacent roads roared in his ears as if they were bearing down on him, same for the laughing voices of the people in the houses he passed as they watched their TV specials and played their carols.  

His nostrils burned from the impossible number of scents in the air: leftover holiday dinners, plastic toys, family pets, evergreen, cleaning solution, hot wax, furniture, more children!  On and on and on!

And though tears began to rise, his vision somehow remained sharp as a pin, even zeroing in on a creeping rat beneath a thick bush bathed in black shadows.  

Clenching his eyes shut and blocking his ears in a feeble attempt at protection from this onslaught, Bog tripped over a bottle and landed on his knees in a rain puddle.  His pulsed raced and his heavy panting was making the world spin around him.  Sweat dripped off his pale face as he shook from head to toe, not even recognizing his own warped image in the disturbed water.  

 _What’s happening to me?!_ The question repeated in his brain over and over like a skipping record until, a single name managed to break through his cloud of panic.

Marianne.

It made no sense.  It was stupid and irrational, but his insides were practically  _clawing_  beneath his skin with urgency.  Part of him didn’t trust it, and wanted to keep running somewhere, _anywhere_ , but the pull of his instincts was too strong.  

She’d help him.  She’d  _save_  him.  He  _knew_  she would!

He didn’t know how, he didn’t know why, but he just  _did_.

Clambering up on his wobbly legs, he darted through the empty streets, heading for Rydstrom Boulevard, where Marianne’s boxing gym resided.  He had plans to meet her tomorrow, but she’d told him she was going to be there today ‘til late, organizing paperwork and tidying up for when she reopened on Monday.  

A soon as the building was in sight, Bog scurried around to the back door and pounded against the barrier with all his might, denting the metal.  

“MARIANNE!”  Bog screamed, even  _more_  frightened now by the damage he’d caused.  “MARIANNE, OPEN UP!  IT’S  _ME_!  PLEASE, OPEN THE DOOR!  FOR THE LOVE OF  _GOD_ , MARIANNE, PLEASELET ME  _IN_!!!”

The ten seconds it took for the door to unlock and finally swing open felt like ten  _hours_ , but the instant he saw those gorgeous brown eyes gaping at him with worry, he fell over the threshold and collapsed into the warm haven of her arms.


	9. Chapter 9

“Shh, shh…it’s okay, Bog. It’s okay…”

Marianne’s voice was like an autumn breeze; so soft, yet irresistible.  And her hands were everywhere.  His hair, his face, his chest.  Stroking him, soothing him, lulling him onto an almost hypnotic state.  Blackness swam into his vision and he melted against her, feeling all his fear and confusion drift away like dandelion heads stirred by a child’s breath.  

Had he been of sounder mind, he might’ve wondered why her tone was so unshakably calm, and why she wasn’t asking him any standard questions that just  _might_  cross a woman’s mind when their boyfriend came pounding on their place of business after dark, barefoot and hysterical.    

She felt too good for logic, so he surrendered to the dark.  Lost in the magic of her comfort, he felt weightless.  He thought he heard the rhythmic thud of footsteps and the click of a door, then he was laid upon a plush cloud.  Something tugged at him, and he frowned, but it was gone after only a moment, and soon feminine fingers were combing gently over his scalp once again.

“…Mmmmariaaannuuuhhhh…”

“I’m here.”

He wanted to sleep; sleep and  _forget_ , but his spirit stirred. Plus, there was a draft.

Blinking himself to full consciousness, he glanced down.

“Marianne…” he croaked, “…um, where are my pants?”

“Downstairs, in the locker-room dryer.”

.

.

.

_Oh, right. The puddle._

Bog gazed around, observing that they were in Marianne’s office, and he was laying on a couch with his head in her lap.  

How did they get up here?

Did she carry him?

He certainly didn’t walk, so she must have-

But that was _impossible_!  He was six foot seven, and he weighed two-hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet! There was no way she could’ve carried him; let alone up a flight of stairs!

What if she had help?

Was there someone else here?

Ugh, all these questions were giving him a migraine.  

Groaning slightly, Bog sat up and rubbed his temples.  When he turned to Marianne, she was oddly silent and still.  She wasn’t even looking at him, just a random spot on the floor in front of her; clearly lost in thought.

Immediately, he was embarrassed.

“…Sorry about this, Tough Girl.”  

“It’s fine,” she whispered, “you have nothing to be sorry about.”

An unbearably long and quiet minute passed before she spoke again.

“What exactly happened, Bog?”

Bog opened his mouth to answer, but fell short with an incredulous huff of laughter.  There was no way to explain it all without sounding completely insane.

“Ye wouldn’t believe me if I told ye.”

A brief, mysterious smile flashed across her lips, so subtle, he assumed he’d only imagined it.

“You’d be surprised at what  _I_ can believe.”

“…”

“It’s alright.”  She declared with a deep, resigned sigh.  “If you won’t tell me, then I’ll tell  _you_.  You’ve been  _changing_.”

The word seized Bog as iron shackles would a crook, and he was suddenly ice cold.

“Wh-what?”

“You’ve been restless, like a beast in a cage.  Your senses have heightened beyond human capacity.  You’re physically stronger than you think you should be.  You had heart palpitations; four episodes, to be exact.  And of course, the  _craving;_ the relentless, powerful craving.  All starting the morning after we first slept together.”

Bog stared at Marianne with wide, distressed eyes.  His breath quickened, and he slid as far away from her as the couch would allow.

“H-h-how do you kn-know that?”  He stammered.

Marianne pursed her lips and finally met his troubled gaze with sorrow marring her features.  

“…Because  _I’m_  the one who changed you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bog gaped in shock at the docile woman before him.  His brain was buzzing like stirred bees, struggling to make sense of her words.

“What are ye talkin’ about?!”  He managed to say in a strained voice.  He’d never told her about his…ailments.  He hated telling people about his troubles.

“Come on, Bog, you’re not stupid.”  Marianne replied, shifting forward in her seat.  “Surely you have  _some_  suspicions about me by now?”

The way she was watching him made Bog feel like a buck before the gun.  She wasn’t fucking around.  He didn’t want to believe it.  He couldn’t believe it.  But this was no dream.  

This was a nightmare in the waking world.  Every strange situation and insane doubt in his head that he’d been suppressing since they’d met came thrashing to the surface.

_No._

_No, not you._

_NOT **YOU**!!!_

Shooting up from the couch, Bog backed away from the brunette as if she were a bomb.

“No…no, that’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry, Bog, but you’re  _wrong_.”

Slowly, Marianne rose to her feet as well, and steadily advanced on the trembling man, her unsettlingly placid demeanor making his pulse rate skyrocket.    

“It’s not just  _possible_ , it’s  _real_.”

Choked by the sudden terror of every horror movie he’d ever seen coming true, Bog spun on his heel and flew at the door, only to find it locked.

“Bog.”  Marianne said calmly as his shaking fingers repeatedly slipped on the dead bolt.  

Once he clumsily managed to turn it, he almost let out a cry of dismay at the door’s stubborn refusal to open.

_Fucking privacy knob!_

Frantic, he yanked on the handle, savagely rattling the wood.

“Bog, don’t do that.”

She was getting  _closer_!

One last panicked jerk, and the frame splintered, freeing the damn latch and twisting the top hinges from the wall.  The evidence of his inhuman strength only spiked Bog’s fear as he rushed past the ruined door and down the stairs.  

“Bog, wait!”

Refusing to listen, Bog bolted across the dark, empty gym, still managing to see a clear path despite the deep shadows.  He saw his chance of escape in a single door beyond the sparring ring.  

“Bog!”

Marianne’s footsteps followed steadily behind him, as he reached the unfortunately locked door, only to realize with sharp alarm that unlike the previous,  _this_  one was metal…and with two  _interior_  key locks.

_SHIT!_

“Bog?”

There was no more time to run, so Bog helplessly battered the unyielding door with his fists, barely managing to leave a pair of dents before he heard Marianne approach him from behind.

“Bog, I just-!”

In a desperate move, Bog noticed a coat rack beside him, and seized his makeshift weapon.

“Get back!”  He shouted, pointing the tip of a large umbrella at Marianne’s neck.  “Stay the  _fuck_ away from me!   I  _mean_ it!”

For several, silent beats, Marianne just stood stock still with a look of surprise and even  _hurt_  in her eyes…

…until she gave Bog the most furious scowl he’d ever seen.

In the breath of a second, she side-stepped him, snatched the end of the umbrella, and pulled  _hard_ , causing Bog to stumble forward and lose his grip on the handle.  It clattered to the floor as Marianne then grabbed him by the back of the neck and his right arm.  With unimaginable strength, she marched him away from the door like an angry mother would an unruly child, and when they reached the ring, she suddenly released his neck, swept her left hand under his chest, and shoved upwards, hurling him into the air.

Bog’s six foot seven, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound body flipped clear over the raised platform and ropes.  He landed flat on his back in the ring, sprawled and dazed, but unharmed, save for the wind knocked out of his lungs.

Marianne then came somersaulting after him like Catwoman.  Her feet slammed down on either side of Bog’s head, freezing him in place as she squatted to snarl in his face:

“Listen here, jackass! If I  _wanted_  to hurt you, I coulda snapped you like the overgrown twig you are  _weeks_  ago!  But I  _didn’t_! So,  _obviously_  I  _don’t_ wanna hurt you, and I’m not  _going_  to!  Now you get a hold of yourself, goddammit!  You  _hear_  me?!”

Funny, most people would’ve likely shit their pants after getting such an explosive reaction from a person they perceived as a threat…

…but Bog, oddly enough…

…had the  _opposite_  reaction.  He was still afraid, alright; but the passive and contrite Marianne freaked him out, because it was so  _unlike_  her, and it scared him more so.  Yet, the shouty, boxing trainer with that don’t-take-crap-from-anyone attitude and backbone of tempered steel?  Now  _that_ was familiar.   _That_  was his Tough Girl; the woman he fell in love with.    

“I-I-I hear ye.”

“Good.”  

Moving off of him, Marianne stomped away to sit cross-legged in the center of the ring, resting her elbows on her knees with a pensive frown.  Carefully, Bog sat up and focused on calming himself.

She was right; she hadn’t hurt him.  Yes, she was upset, but she was still the Marianne he knew; she’d proven that, by God.  

He could at least hear her out.  

“…”

“…”

“Overgrown twig?”

“Oh, don’t act like it’s not fitting.”  She returned with a pointed glace, veiled with dry humor.  “You’re gonna pay for a new office door, you know.”

Bog drew up his legs and crossed his arms over them.  

“Not ‘til ye tell me the whole truth first, I worn’t.  Start talkin’.”

Marianne stared at Bog for a moment, twisting her lips in consideration before sighing and giving her attention to the restless fingers in her lap.

“Why don’t you ask me… _specific_  questions instead, and I’ll try to answer them as best I can.  I think if I try to explain everything in one go, it’ll just stress you out even more.”

Bog swallowed, but pressed on.

“Fine, who are ye?”

“Marianne Springwood.”

He huffed in exasperation at her sass.

“ _What_  are ye?”

“…It……depends on what culture or time period you’re referencing, but…basically, I’m……I’m part of a race of…superhuman beings that……feed off of mankind.”

“So, yer what? A…s-some kinda  _v-v-va-vampire_?”

Marianne rolled her eyes with a breathy snicker.

“Not in the way  _you’re_  probably thinking.  All that Bram Stoker, garlic, crucifix, ‘I vant to suck your blahd’, Hollywood crap.  We may have  _inspired_  all that, but fact is still very different from fiction.”

“How so?”

“Bog, how familiar are you with Jewish mythology?”

Bog blinked in brief confusion.

“Um…well,  _I_  was raised Catholic, but my mom’s non-practicin’.”

“Ever heard of the demon, Lilith?”

“…Vaguely.”  Bog said before tensing.  “Are ye sayin’ yer a-?!”  

“ _No_.  Trust me, if I  _were_ , you’d be  _dead_.  We’re generally known as  _Lilin,_  or, the children of Lilith, but many of us don’t appreciate the whole ‘demon association’ thing if it’s not meant as a joke.”

“Does that mean yer not evil?”

Marianne winced, but covered it by giving Bog a sultry grin.

“Well,  _I_ , personally, can be very  _naughty_ , as you know….”

Gulping, Bog squirmed to readjust his position, suddenly feeling extra vulnerable in his boxers as Marianne went on in a more serious tone.

“…but we’re sentient beings with free will, Bog.  We can strive to be good, or we can choose to be evil.  We have the same emotions you humans do, and it’s up to the individual on how to use them.”

Nodding in hesitant understanding, Bog took a minute to absorb the information thus far.

“Lilin.” He whispered to himself, testing the word like a new flavor.

“Yes,” Marianne continued, “but there’s an even more common term.  My sister and I prefer to be called ‘succubus’.”

Bog’s mouth fell open.

“Yer  _sister_?”

“That’s right.  And Sunny and my dad are ‘incubus’, since they’re males.”

The thirty-one-year-old sound editor could hardly believe what he was hearing.  Her whole family?  Even  _Dawn_? That bubbly, blonde Barbie doll he’d met the other week?  They were  _all_ …?

“Succubus an’ incubus. Aren’t those the things that are supposed to come into yer room at night an’ have…s-s-sex with ye?”

It was Marianne’s turn to be embarrassed.  Awkwardly, she scratched behind her ear.

“Erm…yes and no.  We don’t  _have_  to do that; sex, or more specifically,  _kissing_ , just gives us the best opportunity to feed, but it’s not essential.  For those of us that are born Lilin, the craving doesn’t appear until puberty, so it’s nice to have an alternative to a bunch of promiscuous preteens running around, you know?  Even  _we_  frown upon underage, unprotected sex. But we’re masters of stealth, so we can usually just sneak in at night, take what we need, and that’s it.”

Regardless, Bog looked queasy.

“W-when ye said ye fee-feed off mankind…”

“Don’t worry, Bog.   Lilin live off human  _energy_ , not blood.”

“How is that better?”

“It’s less  _messy_ , for one.  And it’s safer for our prey, ‘cause it only takes two or three draws to satisfy us.”

“Draws?”

“We…steal their breath, in a sense; inhale the energy into ourselves from their mouths.  That’s how we feed.  If we take exactly what we need, the human just falls or stays asleep.”

“An’ if ye take  _more_  than exactly what ye need?”

Marianne paused, and the room seemed to drop ten degrees.  Her expression darkened with gloom, but Bog’s anxious eyes held her fast until she stammered a skirting response.

“I-it’s not like the books and movies, Bog.  You don’t lo-lose control like it’s an undeniable urge or anything.”

“Answer the question.”

“There are no a-accidents. If a Lilin draws more, th-then they  _mean_  to do-”

“MARIANNE!”  

The echo of Bog’s frustrated demand bounced off the walls of the gym, and Marianne cringed, but confessed.

“Then…they can lose consciousness…”

“…”

“…slip into a coma…”

“…”

”…and  _die_.”  

.

.

.

Bog’s spine was overrun with chills and his throat was sandpaper, but he had to know.  Setting his jaw, he spoke again in a quiet, but firm tone.

“Have  _you_  ever killed anyone?”


	11. Chapter 11

“Once.”

Bog made a small noise of distress and moved to get up, but Marianne immediately raised her hands to stop him.  

“But it was  _not_ by overfeeding, Bog!  I swear to God!”

Her boyfriend paused, but he still frowned at her in distrust, so she hurried to give her story.

“It was four years ago. I was locking up for the night and a guy jumped me in the alley behind the gym.  I’m not sure if he was gonna rape me or rob me or what, but he had a knife, and he grabbed my hair.  I honestly didn’t  _mean_  to hurt him, but he startled me so bad I just took a swing without thinking.  You already know firsthand that Lilin are much stronger than your average human.  Well, when I punched him, he…flew across the alley and hit the brick wall,  _hard_ ; snapped his neck on impact.”

Bog winced and swallowed the lump that rose from her description.

“I went to court.  Turned out the guy had a pretty hefty criminal record. The case was ruled an accidental death from self-defense.  You can look it all up, Bog.  I think my sister still has the newspaper clipping.”

“And that was really the  _only_  time?”  Bog asked, narrowing his eyes.

“ _Yes_ , Bog!  I  _promise_!  I’ll be honest, after Roland cheated on me, I… _thought_ about it, for like a  _minute_ ,” she half-joked, “but…I could  _never_  kill anyone on purpose.  It’s not who I am.  Plus, I had great parenting, so  _believe_  me, my head’s on straight when it comes to basic morals.”

In the silence that ensued, Marianne tried not to squirm under Bog’s heavy gaze.  It was a slight relief when he stood to his feet and began slowly pacing.  His hands slid into his hair, as if in an attempt to physically contain all this bizarre information in his brain.

“This is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.”  He finally said.

“Yeah.”

“An’ I can’t believe that I  _believe_  ye.”

In spite of the situation, Marianne felt her chest fill with warmth at that.

“…”

“…”

“Isn’t there anything  _else_  you wanna know?”  She hedged.

“ _Tons_.  My mind’s just a blank at the moment.”

Patiently, Marianne waited for him to sort his thoughts.  She would tell him only what he asked to know, but she was nervous that the most dreaded part of this conversation was fast approaching.

After what seemed like eons, Bog suddenly stopped and whirled to face Marianne so quickly, that had she not been a succubus, she might’ve gasped.  Instead, she tensed as Bog addressed her.

“…What did ye mean when ye said ye  _changed_  me?”  

_And there it is._

Marianne took a deep breath.

“I meant exactly what it sounds like.”

“No…”

Bog shook his head.

“Ye…ye  _can’t_  be serious.”

A sting touched Marianne’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep her composure.

“I’m  _very_  serious, Bog.”

“Ye said Lilin were  _born_!  Yer a separate  _species_!”

“No, I said: ‘ _those of us_  that are born Lilin’.”  Marianne repeated, standing now as well.  “The rest are  _made_ , like  _you_.  You’re turning into an  _incubus_ , Bog; because of  _me_.”

Shaking all over again, Bog backed into the ropes, staring at her with a wide, frightened expression.

“ _How_?!”

“I…I did something to you…that first night we were together……and several times since.  Something  _big_.”

“ _What_  did ye do to me, Marianne?”

“I…”

“WHAT THE HELL DID YE  _DO_?!”

Tears swam in Marianne’s vision, and her fists clenched at her sides as she came clean with a dismal shout:

“I  _BIT_ YOU!  I DRANK THE BLOOD FROM YOUR  _HEART_!!!”


	12. Chapter 12

Bog both looked and  _felt_  as if he was going to vomit.  

After Marianne’s screamed confession, he’d torn off his shirt as if it was on fire to see the evidence of her claim for himself.  The small, angry, red and purple mark on his pale chest, just to the right of his left nipple, he’d written it off as a hickey.  But how could a hickey last two months?  He’d treated it like all the others, but it was the only one that had refused to fade!  

This was too much, and Bog would’ve clambered through the ropes to try his luck with the metal door again, if he wasn’t so  _petrified_  he couldn’t move an inch.

But he could still  _talk_.

“Th-then, ye…ye  _lied_  to me!”  He almost squeaked.  “Ye  _are_  a vampire!”

Marianne rolled her eyes with an irritated grunt.

“No, I’m  _not_ , Bog!”

“Ye jus’ said ye  _bit_  me!”

“Yes, but  _not_  because I’m a  _vampire_!”

“Y-ye told me ye dorn’t drink blo-!”

“We  _don’t_.”  Marianne emphasized before biting her lip and staring at the floor in obvious guilt.  “Unless…”

“Unless  _what_?”

“…Unless we find our…God, I  _hate_  this term,” Marianne groaned, running a hand through her pixie-cut hair, “…our……s-s-soulmate.”

!!!

“…What?  What did ye say?”

Marianne couldn’t meet Bog’s eyes if her life depended on it.  Her gaze stayed low, but her face pinched in her battle to keep from crying like a child.  Turning away to one of the corners, she wrapped her arms around her middle to quell the irrational fear that she might  _literally_  fall apart otherwise.

“Lilin  _do_  have fangs, Bog,” she began slowly, “like a traditional vampire, but they only appear for two reasons: for defense…or for when we meet our  _soulmate_.”

When Bog stayed silent, Marianne forced herself to continue.

“For every Lilin, there’s…one person out there, that they’re meant to be with, for life.  They can be either human or Lilin themselves.  Some think that through all the seduction and prowling, we’re just… _searching_  for them.  Others say they’re our spiritual salvation, but what’s a  _definite_  fact is that when we’re blood bound to them, our craving finally  _stops_.”  

“…Stops?”

Hearing his voice gave Marianne the courage to face him again.  

“When I first saw you at the Halloween party, I instantly knew I wanted to spend the night with you.  I loved your costume, and I thought you were  _crazy_  hot; I  _still_  do.”

Bog cleared his throat and awkwardly glanced to the side.

“I  _mean_  it, Bog.”  Marianne insisted, knowing full well his lack of confidence when it came to his physical appearance.  “You have  _no_  idea how  _sexy_  you really are.”

“Th-thank ye, but…can we  _please_ stay on topic?”  Bog asked, blushing like a peach and discreetly shifting his legs to  _hide_  himself.  

Pursing her lips to keep from smiling, she nodded and went on, growing more and more somber with every word.

“Right, sorry.  Well…while we were together, I…I honestly don’t know how else to explain it, Bog.  I just……I couldn’t  _control_  myself.  Nothing like that had ever happened to me before; not even in the three years I’d dated Roland.  My body knew  _you_  were my soulmate before my mind did; it was instinctual.  You made my fangs appear, and…the next thing I knew…”

She trailed off, not needing to state the obvious, so she skipped ahead.

“I was horrified at what I did.  After Roland, I…I let myself believe that my soulmate just didn’t exist; that it was all a mistake.  I tried to stay away from you, but… _clearly_ , that was  _impossible_.  There you were, practically everywhere I went.  And the pull to you was just too  _strong_.  No matter how much I denied it to myself and to Dawn…being with you made everything  _better_.  I’d never enjoyed talking to someone as much as did you.  All the things we had in common; you even understood what it was like to lose a parent, and to get your heart broken by someone you thought you loved!”

As she spoke, Bog’s expression changed; morphing from fright and discomfort to a look of shameless awe.  She didn’t know that he’d felt the exact same way!  

“Lord help me, Bog, I just couldn’t resist you.  I didn’t  _need_  to feed anymore, but I did anyway whenever we were…intimate.  I was too scared to face you afterwards, so I always put you to sleep, and left before you woke up.  All the while, lying to myself about what a goddamn  _coward_  I was, because those first couple of times after Halloween, I somehow ended up biting you again.  I suppose I was trying to subconsciously counteract my stubbornness by making  _sure_  the transformation was working.”  

Momentarily spent, Marianne studied Bog carefully.  He was still as a statue and watching her without even blinking.  His eyes were hollow and his mouth sullen, as if he’d aged thirty years over the course of this unbelievable exchange.  He said nothing, not even when he appeared to lose the will to stand, and trudged himself over to one of the opposite ring corners so he could sit down and lean his back against the pole.  His hands came up to cover his face, and she could hear his deep, shuddered breathing.  

This time, his silence was absolutely unbearable, and her quiet, long held tears began to quietly fall freely, from the terror and anguish that her Roland-induced doubts were about to come true; that he was going to reject her and prove once and for all, that she could  _not_  have a soulmate.

The soulmate she wanted and loved more than anything on this earth.  

She was so caught up in her despair, she nearly missed it when at last, Bog  _did_  speak again:

“There’s…no way to  _stop_  this, is there?”

And just like that, Marianne’s heart was crushed into a million jagged shards of glass, cutting her to bleeding ribbons from the inside out.  It was a miracle she was able to keep her tone even.

“No, Bog.  Not without  _dying_.”


	13. Chapter 13

The longest stretch of silence yet shrouded the darkened boxing gym.  

Bog’s hands had left his face to lifelessly hang off his drawn-up knees.  His head had fallen back against the corner post, eyes closed, and jaw set in a grim expression; he was stone still.  

As Marianne watched him, she found herself noticing that Bog rather resembled her father this way, back when she was an unruly  _child_  standing before him in the living room while he sat in his easy chair and took a long moment to calm his temper before deciding on a fitting punishment for whatever trouble she’d caused.  It was as comforting as it was devastating, and she sagged as if she were eight-years-old again, awaiting her verdict.      

Perhaps that was why each empty, ticking second was more unbearable than the last, and she had to say something before her thundering heartbeat crumbled her aching body to the floor.

“Do you…… _hate_  me now?”  She asked in a broken whisper.

Immediately, Bog looked at her with a confused frown, as if he didn’t understand the question, and Marianne’s legs almost gave out when his gaze softened.  

“No.”  Bog said, gently.  “ _No_ , Marianne, o’  _course_  I dorn’t hate ye!  Hell, under almost any other circumstances, hearing ye say I’m yer soulmate would be…just about the best news ever.”

He gave her a faint smile which Marianne automatically returned tenfold through her tears.

“However, I’m sure ye can understand that I’m…more than a bit  _overwhelmed_ , an’ that I’m no’ particularly  _happy_  with ye, at the moment.”  Bog added, his sternness returning.  “I mean, this happened against my will!  It’s no’ like ye  _asked_  me if I even  _wanted_  to be a-!  …An i-incubus.”

Marianne twisted her fingers in shame.  

“But…then again…” he sulked, “…I guess it’s no’ really fair o’ me to take issue with a…nature or culture or whatever that’s no’ my  _own_ , is it?”

“You have the right to feel however you  _want_ to feel, Bog.”

“Well, that’s  _great_ , ‘cause I’m certainly feelin’ a  _lot_  right now.”  Bog snorted.  “Do ye realize I could’ve  _killed_  someone tonight?!”

The question gave Marianne pause, and a chill crept along her spine.

“Y-you mean you…you  _fed_?”

“I think so; on Cindy.”

“Who’s  _Cindy_?!”  Marianne demanded, losing her sorrow and guilt in anger at the assaulting mental images of Bog being close enough to some mysterious woman’s lips to draw in her energy.  

Bog seemed puzzled by her sudden change in tone, but was thankfully quick to realize the cause.  She had, after all, told him all about that cheating scum of an ex-boyfriend of hers, so he hastened to explain:  

“ _Cindy_  is a four-month-old  _baby_ ; my friend, Brutus’s daughter.  I was rocking her.”

As if in slow motion, he saw Marianne’s furious glare melt into deep embarrassment at her assumptions.  She looked so uncomfortable and forlorn, he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms.

“…Oh.”

“I wouldn’t do that to ye, Marianne.”  Bog murmured, knowing how difficult it was for her to give her trust to  _anybody_  since Roland.  It was a problem he struggled with himself, with good reason it seemed.    

“No, no.”  Marianne whispered, waving him off and trying not to joyfully dwell on the hint that he still considered them to be in a relationship.  “I’m just being stupid.  That’s  _my_  fault, too.  I should’ve  _told_ you  _sooner_.  What…happened; to Cindy?”

“She fell asleep.”

The succubus breathed a sigh of relief.  

“Good.  That’s normal!”  

Her boyfriend still eyed her doubtfully.  

“I  _swear_  to you, Bog, you  _didn’t_ hurt the baby.”

“No,” Bog agreed, but his mouth thinned into a dismal line, “but I  _could_  have, couldn’t I?”

Marianne’s stomach turned, and the unbearable pain of her foolish cowardice flooded her system anew. What kind of an idiot was she?  To let an unprepared, fledgling incubus loose on the public almost two months after the first bite?  It was a miracle nothing more serious had occurred.  

“Without…knowing what you were doing….. _yes_.” She conceded with force. “Yes, you  _could_  have, Bog.”

She expected so much to happen after her admittance: for him to curse her, to attack her, to bash his own brains in with one of her dumbbells, to break down the door and vanish into the night, never to be seen again.  

 _Anything_  but what actually followed…

Bog steadily rose to his feet, and Marianne felt a feminine thrill rush through her when she heard the feral,  _in_ human growl in his throat.

“If this Lilin stuff  _is_  in fact,  _irreversible_ , then ye better start sellin’ it  _fast_ , Tough Girl.”      


	14. Chapter 14

Marianne had to take a moment to collect herself before she could coherently answer Bog.  The thing about soulmates was that they weren’t just random individuals that fate threw together with a ‘best-of-luck’ shrug. They were specially matched to be both a balance  _and_  compliment to each other. Each was exactly what the other one  _needed_  and  _wanted_ , in whichever order they were to discover.        

Take Dawn and Sunny’s relationship, for example.  Believe it or not, those two had been best friends since childhood, with the latter blissfully unaware of the former’s biggest secret, not that it wasn’t difficult to hide as kids, but when puberty reared its ugly head, things got  _complicated_.  

Sunny fell in love while Dawn went cute boy-crazy.  Marianne couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for him, watching her sister take on the more, eh… _traditional_  M.O. of a succubus; dating a seemingly endless string of tall, white guys; his exact opposite. He thought all he did was blend in, little knowing how he left all those jerks in the dust when it came to who Dawn  _really_  valued the most as a person.  

She’d never once fed off Sunny.  Dawn always claimed it would be  _disrespectful_  to their friendship.  And through all her romantic flings and entanglements, she still made time to hang out with Sunny alone.  

Then came the night of their senior prom.  

It had been unusually cold and rainy that spring, and her date had come down with the flu at the last minute.  Dawn had been wrecked, afraid she was going to miss out on the most special night of her high-school life, until Sunny volunteered to escort her himself, despite his responsibility as the event’s DJ.  It was tricky, but they managed to make it work, with Sunny and his friend, Pare, taking turns manning the sound system so everyone could share plenty of dances.  

When the prom was over, it was pouring outside, so heavily, that by the time Sunny and Dawn reached his mom’s beat-up Volvo, they were soaked through to the bone.  Not realizing that Dawn wasn’t bothered by the chill as much as she was the  _wet_ , Sunny, like the gentleman he was (and is to this day), immediately switched on the heater, took off his tux jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, hugging her close in an attempt to get her warm before they drove home. Well, call it cliché as hell, but one thing led to another, and in the middle of their kissing, it  _happened_.

Marianne would never forget how Dawn had later described it on the phone:   _All of the sudden, I just knew it. I could smell it and see it and taste it all at the same time!  It was so weird and kinda scary, but so amazing!  Like feeding times a thousand, a million!  Everything was Sunny!  My fangs finally grew out and the next thing I knew, I was drinking the blood straight from his heart!_

Afterwards, placing Sunny’s passed out body in the backseat and driving frantically to her house so she and her father could explain everything to him when he came to was… _awkward_ , to say the least.  Dawn had been terrified that she was going to lose her dearest friend since kindergarten forever, but  _nature doesn’t make mistakes_ , and eventually, Sunny just smiled, saying he’d always believed there was something  _magical_  about her.    

They’d been virtually inseparable ever since, marrying in college once Sunny had a year or two to get accustomed to his transformation, and moving into their own house in the same neighborhood as Dawn’s father; Lilin liked to stay near their families.

Dawn, like her mother, was a free-spirit.  She was an almost obnoxiously peppy, optimistic, morning person, who’d try anything and everything at any given time, just for the fun of it.  And while Sunny was similar, he had a stronger down-to-earth streak that helped Dawn relax and keep things in perspective, while she brought out his confidence and courage.  He made her wiser, she made him stand out more; and together; they were deeply and truly  _happy_.      

Marianne had tried to deny how envious she was of them.  Every Lilin longed to find their soulmate, and she’d been so afraid that she  _wouldn’t_ , even going so far as to lie to herself and think she didn’t  _want_ hers, thanks to the Roland disaster.  

But she  _had_.  

Though she’d had a light handful of intimate partners in her lifetime, Marianne did  _not_  share her sister’s pre-bonding affinity for casual sex with all her prey.  She normally preferred to take the ‘thief in the night’ approach, less personal that way. She  _was_  like her mother too, just in wit and sass, rather than flight of fancy; even if she could be somewhat inquisitive and impatient.  Her mother’s passion had become her own, and that combined with her father’s rarely seen, but  _serious_  anger underneath his typically easy-going and friendly attitude, made Marianne a veritable  _hurricane_ when her small number of buttons were pushed.  

Marianne was wild and tough, and she needed someone who could match her fire.  Otherwise, her strength would crush them to bits, figuratively and  _very_  literally.  

Bog was a hard-ass. He didn’t bullshit her; if he disagreed with her on something, he  _told_  her so, and they debated the subject thoroughly, fervently, and  _respectfully_.  They were also both fiercely competitive.  Their dates were chock full of races, trivia, contests, point tallies, etc. He’d even come to the gym a few times to work out and spar with her.  And the best part?  No pun intended, but he  _never_  pulled any punches. Despite her  _obviously_  needing to physically dial it back to avoid suspicion and/or injuring him, she could still tell that  _he_  gave it his all.  He didn’t take it easy on her because she was a woman; he treated her as an  _equal_ , right from the start.  _That’s_  how they were  _balanced_.      

Furthermore, she’d never known the true calming power of the color blue until she’d seen it in his eyes. As much as he could stir her up, he could settle her down just as easily, with his kindness and empathy. He soothed and  _consoled_  her, praised and encouraged her; reminded her of all the beauty and good in the world.  

And for her part, she enticed him, beckoned him; drew him out of the lonely shadows that had whispered to him of his ugliness, his strangeness, his unworthiness to be loved. They gave each other hope, and  _that’s_  how they were  _complimented_.        

All that being said, if Bog thought  _her_  temper was familiar and comforting, then he should’ve taken a peek inside  _Marianne’s_  head when he’d growled at her.  

Had she not been so stubbornly in denial, she could’ve saved herself a lot of torment.  It was incredibly difficult for a Lilin to  _court_  a human, especially when the human in question was the Lilin’s soulmate.  So much restraint, so much f _rustration_!  Like having an unbearable craving for a banana split, but only being allowed to eat the nuts and sprinkles!  It was never  _enough_!

But that was coming to an end.  Bog’s transformation was almost complete; she could  _feel_ it in every pore of her skin.  There was only one last thing he would need to do…

And if he accepted their bond on top of  _that_  task, then she wouldn’t have to hold back anymore.  Hurricane would meet tornado, and it would be  _glorious_!  His show of dominance excited her; made the succubus rise in wanting to challenge him, but she had to stay in control!  Just a bit longer.  This was  _definitely_  not the time to be turned on.      

What was important now, was getting him to  _want_ this.

“You’ll be able to see, smell, and hear better than any animal on this earth,” she explained, “you’ll have the strength of a hundred men, and be immune to almost any disease you can name.”

Something passed over Bog’s scowling face at that.  Relief? Or awe, perhaps?  Was he thinking about his father?  Whatever it was, it vanished in a blink, and was replaced with concern.

“What about my mom?” He demanded.  “I’m all she has, Marianne.  I can’t leave her!”    

“You  _won’t_ , Bog.”  Marianne assured him.  “You can live your life the way you  _always_  have.  You’ll continue to age at the same rate you do now.  You don’t have to give up  _anything_.  Not your friends, your family, your job, not even your favorite foods!”

“What?  How can-?”

“It won’t give you nutrition or sustenance anymore, but you can keep on eating out of habit or just to enjoy the taste.  My uncle Paul’s never stopped  _loving_  his bacon burgers, and I ate Poptarts as a kid; I still like ‘em.”  

As her boyfriend considered this, Marianne put the cherry on top:

“You’ll even be able to walk on air.”

Bog’s gaze snapped to meet hers, first in confusion as to her meaning, but soon his jaw went slack for several beats as understanding dawned on his features and he struggled to speak again.

“Walk on-?  Ye…y-y-ye mean we can… _f-fly_?”

_He said ‘we’!!!_

“Yes, Bog.”  Marianne grinned gently.  “We have  _wings_!”


	15. Chapter 15

“…Marianne……I-I’ve seen ye naked; a  _lot_.  I think I woulda _noticed_  if ye had  _wings_.”

“Not if I didn’t  _want_  you to see them.”  Marianne smugly returned.  “Lilin wings appear and disappear at  _will_.  Didn’t you ever wonder how I was always able to get out of your  _locked_ apartment without a key?  I  _flew_!”

Bog watched her carefully.  Lord, his imagination had already been stretched so far beyond its ordinary limit tonight, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more…

.

.

.

…but who the hell could deny their curiosity about something like  _this_?

“Show me.”

Pleased by his interest, Marianne pulled her Colorado Avalanche t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but her grey yoga pants and ballet flats; she never liked wearing a bra when she was working by herself.  

Bog’s eyes clouded a bit at the sight of her bare breasts, but Marianne refused to let the ego boost distract her.  Taking a deep breath, she mentally summoned her wings into their corporeal form.  

They were a soft shade of purple and black, and had the general shape of two, enormous butterfly wings, yet they were hazy and seemed to have a steady, mystical life of their own, like the dancing smoke above a doused candle, and the edges were tattered as the crest of fire.  Clearly, her Halloween costume accessory was, if anything, proof that she was very,  _very_  proud of them.

Bog’s immediate gasp gave her the briefest moment of stage fright, until she caught sight  _and_ scent of his lust.  The muscles expanded in his chest, his breath rushed through his open mouth, his predator gaze was dark and unflinching…and his boxers were looking a few sizes too small.

She couldn’t resist a slight tease.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna take ye right here on the floor.”

“That’s definitely the incubus in you,” Marianne chuckled, turning in a slow circle to give him the full view of how they naturally melted out of her skin, just along the inner ridge of her shoulder blades, “my wings are like an extra pair of tits to my soulmate.”

She heard Bog growl again, this time in  _hunger_ , and had to suppress a wanton shiver.  

_Easy, girl.  Not yet!_

“Lilin that are born always have two wings.”  She explained to keep her concentration.  “The Lilin that are  _made_  have  _four_.”

“Four?”  Bog repeated, though he only appeared to be half-listening.

“Yes, that’s why you had four episodes of those heart palpitations.  It was your body increasing its blood flow to create them, one by one. You never felt any pain in your back because they’re obviously not exactly flesh.  They’re more like…a  _combination_  of the  _physical_  and the  _meta_ physical; you might say it’s a tangible extension of your  _spirit_.”

Bog hummed, still ogling.  

“Which brings me to the most important thing about them,” Marianne continued, “once you make your wings sprout for the first time, your transformation will be complete.”

She had Bog’s  _full_  academic and emotional attention then. He warily glanced at the empty space behind him, expression unsure.  

“I, uh……I’m guessin’ that if I  _dorn’t_  make ‘em myself, they’ll…jus’  _force_  their way out at some point?”

Marianne bit her lip and nodded heavily, feeling her guilt replenish.  How cruel was she to have taken away his choice?  Why couldn’t she have sucked it up and been honest from the beginning?  By now, her eight-week-long silence absolutely felt like lying, the sin she  _hated_  the most, and yet she’d done it to the person she  _loved_  the most.      

“So…ho-how do I do this?”

Starting at his question, she recovered by blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face.      

_All your moping isn’t going to help anyone! Concentrate on Bog, you selfish idiot! He needs all the encouragement and guidance you have!_

“Er, you……it’s difficult to put into words.  You have to  _want_  them, more than anything else in the world, but…you also have to…… _cleanse_  yourself, I guess; let go of everything.  Relax your whole mind and body.  At least, that’s what I’ve been told.   _My_  wings just grew automatically when I hit puberty.”

Bog features remained unreadable as he considered her vague information in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he took three hesitant steps forward and knelt into the seiza position.  It had been about fifteen years since he’d actively practiced martial arts and the mental discipline that was required with such a study, but he smoothly closed his eyes and deepened his breathing in meditation, like the avid student he’d been in high school.

Waiting was  _torture_. Marianne felt her heart rise an inch towards her throat at every ticking second, and her sweaty palms were leaving damp spots on her pants.  She was so on edge that when Bog suddenly pitched forward with a piecing, animal scream of agony, she almost flipped backwards over the ropes!  

Thankfully, she caught herself, but was not spared the horror of seeing Bog’s upper back engulfed in ebony  _flames_.    


	16. Chapter 16

Bog writhed and convulsed on the ring floor, shrieking louder than he ever imagined his vocal cords could allow.  The boxing gym might as well have vanished altogether and been replaced by a raging tempest, thrashing his brain and body around in its unbridled rage like a child’s rag doll.  The physical pain was beyond unbearable, as if the already hyper-sensitive flesh over his scapulae was both being burned  _and_ peeled off in strips at the same time.

Yet, the most bizarre part about it all was the equally intense opposition _._

 _Underneath_  the hellishly abused skin, there was a tingling surge of molten  _pleasure_  firing through his limbs, which Bog struggled to chase through his suffering, but he was helplessly trapped inside the cage of his own changing body.  All he could do was surrender any illusion of control he had, and just  _feel_  the equivalent of having thousands of Marianne’s searing hot fingers scratching down his back as they fucked.

It was sensory overload, and he wished he could pass out…

In the end, he wasn’t sure if he actually did or not.  As abruptly as his fit had come, it was gone almost as quickly, with Bog blinking his eyes into focus and straining to push himself up from his prone position as if his bones were somehow made of uranium.

For Marianne’s part, she was completely and utterly  _spellbound_.  Though the process had been a nightmare she never wanted to witness again, the results were unquestionably  _beautiful_.  

Bog’s four separate Lilin-made wings, located doubly at the inside tip of the clavicle and bottom corner of the shoulder blade, were as lengthy as her own, but much thinner and oblong in shape, like a dragonfly’s; and with the constant smoky waves and rough edges, she rather fancied them to resemble flaming swords, if the fire danced as slow as hair underwater.  But hands down, her favorite detail were the colors: black and the same gentle shade of cornflower blue as his eyes.  

Each one experimentally stretched straight out on their own, and she couldn’t stop the tiny whimper of pure succubus desire from escaping her lips.  

And Bog immediately responded to the sound that would’ve fallen deaf on his once human ears.

Marianne trembled deliciously as Bog steadily rose to his feet with renewed strength.  He was  _full_ incubus now, and in the presence of his soulmate who was both exposing her wings and practically  _smothering_  the room with her arousal.  

His stance shifted almost imperceptibly, as if ready to spring into movement at a moment’s notice, and he watched her with a lone wolf’s hunger, yet there was wicked humor in his laser focus; he knew  _exactly_  what she wanted.  

Oh, but she wasn’t about to give in  _that_ easy!  She loved to play too much.

Smirking coyly, she held her wings erect, and bent forward, sensuously sliding her hands along her thighs. Arched her back, she purposefully emphasizing her cleavage, and her message was crystal clear:

 _You want me?  Come and_ get _me._

On to her game, Bog growled in warning and took a single step forward.  Marianne of course defied him with gusto, bolting across the ring to perch like an eagle atop one of the corner posts.

Bog grinned at her tease, and took chase.

Back and forth, round and round, over and over Marianne evaded Bog as he tore after her, swiping to grab or leaping to tackle, but missing his smug quarry every time.  It was crazy fun, but also tricky; after all, she was used to Bog being  _much_ slower, but now his Lilin speed and agility kept him right on her heels, and he was  _gaining_.

_Excellent._

In one final act of rebellion, she made to take flight out of the ring, giggling at his cry of outrage. Bog’s newly grown wings lacked the strength and skill to fly at present, but he  _was_  able to compensate by making an all-star leap to catch her by the ankle, just as she’d hoped he would.

He had her pinned flat in the next half second, and they snarled at one other in triumph as their wings faded.  

No more hunting. Time to  _feast_!

Her yoga pants and his boxers didn’t last long, neither did the non-slip material covering the mat beneath them.  That tempest had returned, but this time, they conducted it like an orchestra  _together_.  Their gasping, panting, and sighing were the woodwinds, their moans, roars, and screams the brass, and their pounding, slamming, thrusts the percussion.  They rolled around in a wild, sweaty mess, taking turns fighting for dominance and reveling in the submission.  

Their Lilin nature!  He explored, she experienced anew, and neither had ever felt such pure  _freedom_ before.  The primal release of all inhibitions as they clawed, nipped, grasped, and squeezed the incomparable ecstasy from their soulmate as it if were the very draught of life itself. Two once injured whole beings, joining to make an unbeatable,  _healed_  force; they were lost in each other; in a magnificent, unquenchable thirst that could go on far past the earth’s dying day.  

But there was still one thing left to do…

Cupping her left breast, Marianne tugged it to the side, giving Bog all the access he’d need.

“Bite me, Bog,” she urged in a guttural whisper, “as I did you.  Seal our bond, and your craving will stop,  _forever_.”  

Bog’s pupils were blown wide, and Marianne watched in awe as he bared his crooked teeth in a hiss and his canines extended like a cat’s.  He obediently descended on her with breathtaking swiftness, and the instant he pierced her chest, she threw her head back with a deafening wail of euphoria as her climax ripped through her form, and Bog’s muffled howl vibrated through the dripping, sacred wound as he followed her into explosive bliss.  

Soon, while Marianne shivered in their afterglow and leisurely stroked Bog’s hair as he continued to drink from her, she let a few joyful tears escape…

He knew the truth. He’d accepted her as both Lilin and soulmate, and had bound himself to her in return.  She’d been so afraid, but everything was  _perfect_  now!

.

.

.

Wasn’t it?


	17. Chapter 17

Not long after Marianne’s wound had healed, leaving the same red mark on  _her_  that marred Bog’s pale skin, the fledgling incubus sluggishly raised himself to gaze down into her eyes.  She adored how his new nocturnally favoring biology made the exquisite blue of his eyes even brighter; they almost glowed in the dim light.  Mesmerized and divinely sated, she nearly missed his rumbling whisper:

“Hi.”

Smiling, she pressed a simple, but no less loving kiss to his bloodstained lips.

“Hey.”

He touched his forehead to hers, nuzzling her affectionately and a low, purring sound passed between them for a few seconds…

…until Bog reared back in surprise, realizing that the noise was apparently coming from deep within his own chest!

Marianne giggled and stroked his cheek.

“Yeah, you can do  _that_  now too.”

Bog blinked and slowly nodded his understanding.  Still, the interruption had perhaps not  _killed_  the mood, per say, but it had surrendered to the march of the clock and grown more focused.  

Holding in a mewl as Bog pulled out and sat by her hip, facing away from her, Marianne sat up, stretched and reached for him-, but stopped short.  

Maybe it was the slight change in the air’s texture, or the faintest hint of tension she noticed in the chords of muscle in his neck, but all at once she was frozen and like a broken faucet, worry began to drip into her stomach all over again as she waited for him to speak.

.

.

.

“I guess I was a bit overeager.”  Bog said at last.

“S’alright,  _pretty_  sure I was on board the whole time, and  _leading_.”  Marianne quipped, shifting somewhat for a better view of his bowed profile.  “How’s your craving?”

“Gone; completely.”

Relieved, but not knowing what else to say, she just absentmindedly rubbed his arm for a moment.  Eventually, Bog’s fingers came up to cover her own, ceasing her movements.  

“This can’t happen again, Marianne, no' fer a while.”  

The leak in Marianne’s gut turned into a veritable flood of dread, and she would’ve recoiled had Bog not held her hand fast and met her stricken expression right away with hard sincerity.

“I  _love_  ye, Marianne.” He stated in a gruff voice that was free of doubt.  “Dorn’t ye  _dare_  ever think  _otherwise_.  I know what it meant to bite ye, an’ I know  _exactly_ why I did it; I was in control of all my… _Lilin_  faculties, but I haven’t lost my  _human_  reason.  Yes, I  _dorn’t_  wanna feed off anyone, but  _more_  than anythin’, I  _do_ know I wanna  _be_  with ye…I’m jus’……no’  _ready_  yet.”

Marianne’s lips pursed to keep her sorrow reined.  

“I need time to  _myself_ , to get  _used_  to this; to  _learn_  everythin' I can,” Bog explained gently, “but I have to like it  _without_  yer influence.  I should embrace it all fer  _itself_ …an’ no’ because  _yer_  some kinda predestined  _prize_  that comes with it.  It’s only fair.  Do ye see what I mean?”

She certainly did, and in more painful ways than one.  The trust between them had been damaged; thankfully, not destroyed, but it needed healing. And the very  _least_  she could do for him at this point was respect his wishes.  Even if it was  _excruciating_  to do so.  

How ironic; she’d kept the truth from him, and now he was keeping  _himself_  from her.    

“Okay…” she croaked, “…I…I understand.”

“Do ye?”

“ _Yes_.  I don’t  _like_  it, but I understand it.”

Bog brushed some of her hair behind her ear.  

“…I’m no’ tryin’ to punish ye, Marianne.”

“I know that.  I say I’d  _deserve_  it if you were anyway, but…we both know I’m dramatic like that.”

He pecked her temple, and she felt her tears clambering for release, but she managed to keep herself together.  She needed to be strong, for both their sakes.  

Eventually, they stood up together and redressed in silence until she excused herself to go into the locker room to retrieve his dried pants.  Holding the warm Levi’s in her hands, she paused and allowed herself to be ridiculously sentimental by pressing her cheeks against the rough material, inhaling his scent deep into her lungs for fear of forgetting its bewitching aroma.

_Come on, Tough Girl.  You know it won’t be forever.  Besides, you’ve got your own life and responsibilities.  You’ll be busy replacing your ring floor, for starters. Looks like you let a pack of wolverines loose in there._

Steeling herself, she returned to the main part of the gym where Bog was waiting for her.

“Hey, quick question.” He said as he put on his jeans.  

“Yes?”

“Did Dawn make Sunny like  _you_  made  _me_?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I see.  Would ye mind…textin’ me Sunny’s number then?  If he’s up fer it, I’d like to have him around fer advice, since he’s experienced the transformation firsthand.”

“Oh, s-sure; that’s a good idea.  I’ll let him know.”  

“Thanks.”

“…I love you, Bog.”

He folded her into his arms and kissed her fiercely.

Wanting to stretch her final minutes with Bog to their maximum, she almost offered him a ride home, only to remember that that would be quite impossible, since she’d flown to the gym tonight.  Having wings was a great way to save on gas, a helpful fact she never thought she’d find herself cursing one day.  

All too soon, they were standing together in the open front doorway, unbothered by the chill of the final dark hour as it died for the morning.  The city was incrementally stirring to life around them, a stark contrast to the supernatural couple’s aching but necessary gloom.  

They did not speak.  

They did not share a glance.  

Just three words before he stole into the empty streets…

“Goodbye, Tough Girl.”

The sun rose on her weary and crestfallen eyes, still watching well after her soulmate had vanished into the fading shadows.    


	18. Epilogue

_…10 months later…_

It was almost seven ‘o clock, and the party was in full swing.  Being that Halloween had fallen on a Sunday this year, the new  _cool_  place for the young adults in town to be was the traveling fair that had been set up in a large, local sports field.  Rumor was that someone knew somebody, pulled some strings, and for this night alone, no kids were allowed inside the grounds.

A neat idea, and to compensate for people still having to go to work/school on Monday, the festivities had begun at five and were set to close at nine, plenty of time for everyone to enjoy themselves.  

The hosts and staff had definitely gone all out: orange fairy lights, pumpkins, cloth ghosts, fake cobwebs, and various rubber skeletons, spiders, bats, and witches decorating almost every corner available.  The rides, food stands, and carnival games had been transformed into a spooky wonderland.

Marianne tossed her caramel apple in the trash been after only two measly bites.  Ordinarily, this would’ve been her kinda scene; her  _paradise_ , but instead, she was vacantly wandering in circles, watching everything around her with empty eyes.  

This wasn’t new; it’d been like a spell over her since New Year’s.  She’d been so out of touch with reality, her  _sister_  had to pick out her costume: Xena, warrior princess.  It looked great on her, even though Marianne deliberately left the wig at home; it itched.  The plastic Chakram tied to her hip still made the character obvious.  

Too bad she didn’t  _feel_ like much of a warrior.  She knew she shouldn’t complain, but…

Being away from Bog  _sucked_.  

Period.

Throwing herself into her work and training at the gym to the point where she’d face-plant on her bedspread from exhaustion could only do so much in the way of daily distractions. There were still those various pauses in the waking hours, when the cold, silent loneliness slipped about her and squeezed like an anaconda.  

And of course, the dreams, as well.  

God, the  _dreams_!  Where he’d find her and touch her, and it was  _heaven_  until unseen forces converged on them and tore him away, and no matter how much she screamed and struggled to follow, he was carried off like a boat out to sea, and she was pushed in with the opposing tide.  How much longer would she be seeing tear tracks and shadows on her face in the mornings?  How many more times would she randomly glance about in search of him like when an amputee checked for their missing limb?

At least, Dawn had provided some much-needed joy when she’d gleefully announced her pregnancy eight weeks ago.  She’d become super-aunt; waiting on her sister hand and foot, spending her hard-earned money on baby clothes and accessories, helping design the nursery. It may not have been the one Marianne’s soul was aching for, but it was a new life entering their family, nonetheless; and that was something incredibly beautiful to celebrate and be thankful for.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Bog had vanished off the face of the earth or anything.  She was kept regularly updated about how he was through Sunny.  

Bless her sweet brother-in-law!  He certainly understood the pain of wanting to be with someone you couldn’t, and how much a soulmate meant to their kind, so he’d been spending as much time as possible with Bog. Even finding out he was going to be a father hadn’t deterred him, merely encouraged the enlistment of his friend Pare, and occasionally,Marianne’s father for extra assistance.  Together, they regularly worked to teach Bog everything they knew about Lilin nature and history, along with helping him get used to his new heightened senses and power.

 _He’s doing great, Marianne!_  Sunny would tell her.   _He’s a real fast learner; keen, too. He never seems to run outta questions. He’s getting better and better at controlling his strength.  He opted not to tell his mom about all this; says he’s sure she’d be accepting and all that, but he doesn’t trust her to keep a secret.  Oh, but get this: his doctor is Sherry Plum!  You should’ve seen the look on his face when we told him she was a succubus, too!  I called her, and she even came around the other day to apologize to him for not telling the truth about his symptoms; not her place, and she wanted to be sure first anyway._

Well, that was great and all, because she  _was_  sincerely happy that Bog was adjusting and discovering how much actual support he had around him, but despite this, she had her bitter moments, regardless. Feeling childishly jealous that it seemed like almost every male member of her family got to see and speak with Bog this past year when she couldn’t, thinking that Bog was being unreasonable for making her wait  _this_  long, and stupidly believing that nobody else had ever suffered for their soulmate as much as  _she_  was.  

Ugh.

She was being a selfish, idiotic, bratty bitch, and she knew it.  His meetings with Sunny, Pare, her dad, and other people, were crucial educational sessions,  _not_ social calls.  Who was  _she_  to decide Bog’s or  _anyone_  else’s company and comfort level?    

And most importantly, how  _dare_  she compare what she was going through to the sorrowful stories of others, like say, her own  _parents_  for example?!  

 _Bog_  was  _alive_  and  _out_  there somewhere, but her mother was  _dead_!  

Even with their impressive durability, Lilin’s were by  _no_  means indestructible.  Sara Lynn Springwood had just been cruelly unlucky, innocently intending to visit friends in Rome aboard the ill-fated TWA Flight 800.  Her father had felt the unrelenting grief of her mortal separation for the past  _twenty-five_  years, and he would  _continue_  to feel it until the day he died.  No matter whom he dated, or if he ever remarried, it would  _always_  be there.

She’d voiced her concerns to her father about being so self-centered one afternoon, and he had hugged her tightly as they cried together.  Then, just like when she’d had nightmares as a child, he consoled her fears and worries.  Sadness wasn’t a contest, he’d said, someone else’s feelings didn’t invalidate your own, nor did it mean you lacked empathy.  Everyone was allowed to need comfort when they were hurting.  There was no shame in honestly  _acknowledging_ your emotions.  

And Sunny had made sure to do his part in reminding her that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

_He’ll come back to you, Marianne, you’ll see.  He’s your soulmate, and he loves you.  He asks about you all the time, you know._

_That_  knowledge had done wonders at keeping her going.  Even if she forgot sometimes, it  _was_  only temporary, and if Bog was progressing as well as Sunny claimed, she’d see him sooner rather than later.

She couldn’t help wishing it could’ve been  _now_ , though.  It felt  _especially_  wrong to be without him on  _Halloween_.

_The day we met…_

But he apparently had not given any confirmation to Sunny’s when he’d invited him, so she might as well just forget it.  

At one point in her rambling, she caught sight of Dawn as Madonna in a small, cheering crowd by a little stage that had been set up for karaoke, where Sunny was serenading his giggling wife to Michael Jackson’s  _Thriller_ , complete with the signature red jacket and dance routine.  Smiling indulgently, she waved when her sister noticed her, but kept on walking aimlessly through the fair.  The  _last_ thing she wanted to do was spoil  _their_ fun as a gloomy, spaced out third wheel.  

Gradually, the darkness grew stronger, kept at bay only by the colorful, flashing lights that were switched on for the midway.  Music and laughter filled the air in greater, echoing quantities, and aromas of candy and cider enhanced the rather warm autumn evening.  The magic was coming alive as the sun faded from view behind the trees.  

Perhaps this was why she paused and let her perception of the activity around her slow to a crawl, as if in a film.  It succeeded in relaxing and cheering her to some degree, almost transporting her to her willful, carefree years of her childhood…

And all at once,  _he_  was  _there_ ; wrapping his strong arms around her from behind and pressing his thin lips to the bare skin of her neck.  His purr was steeped with confidence this time, and it nearly sent her into a swoon.

Normally, she might’ve spun out of his grip and put him in a playful chicken wing hold…but not now.  No, it had been  _too_  long to turn this into a sparring game.  

She just wanted to be held and  _loved_!  At last, her soulmate had returned, and all the desolation of his absence was gone and forgotten as was a single breath.  

He seemed determined to convince her that she wasn’t dreaming this rapture.  His hands roamed across her body, clutching her closer, and he growled into her flesh, prompting her to tilt her head and give him more amorous access.  Her eyes fluttered shut and she whined in pleasure, surrendering to  _her_  incubus who she’d missed so damn much!  

A cat-call was thrown at them eventually, and she flipped off the moron without even bothering to look.

Still, Bog released her, but did not back away.  Ha, as if she would’ve  _let_ him.  

She turned to hold him, and had to force herself not to gasp at the euphoric sight of him she’d been denied all these months: his pale, scarred skin, his perpetual five o’ clock shadow, his towering height, his mouth-watering scent, and his eyes!

Christ almighty, his  _eyes_!  Could she just replace the sun and moon with those eyes?

“Hello, Tough Girl.”

That voice rocked her to the core, and she rose up on her toes to kiss him soundly.  

She’d say the difference in him was astonishing, but that wouldn’t be quite the correct term to use. He was the same, he was  _her_  Bog; he was just… _more_.  It was hard to describe in human understanding, but she could see, hear, smell, and taste it all!  Everything about him was  _intensified_ , like the raised heat from the flames of a gas fire.  

Several more idiotic cat-calls and lewd whistles made them break apart with matching chuckles.  

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“How could I not? It’s  _our_  special day.”

It was then she noticed he was wearing the  _same_  Elvis costume from the year before.

That skinny, wonderful jerk!  Did he  _know_  howmuch he could touch her heart? Or was she just fortunate enough to have found the most thoughtful and romantic man in the world?

“I’m sorry I made ye wait so long, Marianne.”  He whispered, brushing his fingertips along the curve of her cheek.

She shook her head. What did it matter now that he was here?

“It was what you needed.  I’m just glad it’s over now.”

“Yes, it is.”

* * *

For a while, they strolled hand in hand through the carnival, savoring the merriment and atmosphere. They threw their money away at ring-toss for cheap bracelets, chased each other through the fun-house, and just for the hell of it, decided to share a funnel cake.

“Man, am I glad I didn’t lose my human taste.”  Bog said, popping a crispy, twisted piece into his mouth.  “This is probably my  _favorite_ deep-fried monstrosity.   _Totally_  woulda been a deal-breaker, otherwise; jus’ sayin’.”  

“Understandable.” Marianne smirked, wiping some of the sugary dust off her nose.  “No true love greater than  _sugar_.”

“Amen!  Especially when it can’t clog your arteries anymore!”

“Heh, heh,  _right_!  So, look at  _you_!  All graduated from Sunny’s incubus school!”  

“Mmm, not quite.” Bog replied, tossing the empty paper plate into the trash bin beside their picnic table.  “There’s still  _one_  thing I haven’t learned yet.”  

“Oh?  What’s that?”

“…How to  _fly_.”

Marianne stared at him, thunderstruck.

“In  _ten_  months you never lear-?!”

“I didn’t want anyone else but  _you_  to teach me  _that_.”

.

.

.

Shock and adoration seized Marianne’s very  _core_. Flying was  _bar none_ , the most  _exciting_  ability a Lilin had, and to hear that he wanted to experience it with  _her_  and her  _alone_ , first?  It…it was…there were just no words!

_Dear Lord, I fucking LOVE him!_

“Ah!  O-o-okay…” she stammered, blushing like a cherry and failing to hide how his statement had affected her, “…ho-how’s your…c-coordination?”  

“I can control ‘em as well as my arms an’ legs.”

“Good!  Good, uh……good…”

Bog quirked his eyebrows, evidentially awaiting her instruction.  

“It’s…actually a whole lot easier than you might think.”  She explained, standing and gesturing at him to follow her through the fair.  “Remember how I told you that your wings are an extension of your spirit?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re aware by now, that that means they… _sorta_  have a mind of their own.  So, flying with them isn’t purely about aerodynamics, but more the…feeling; the  _desire_  to fly and the enjoyment.  Does that make sense?”

“I think so.  Can we try it?”

He made for the exit, but she caught his sleeve.  

“We can, but…there’s a better way here.”

“ _Here_?”

“Trust me.”

She led him through the merry masses to a particular ride in the center of the midway. It was called: The Techno Power; a Tivoli manufactured contraption, which stood out with a flashing European style back-wall scenery, and multicolored light bulbs.  It had six arms, each connecting to three, double-passenger, floor-less vehicles on the ends, and which were all raised and rotating as they approached.  

Bog eyed the whirling machine in mild confusion.

“Um…”  

“We’re gonna use  _this_ , to help you fly.”  Marianne announced, already grinning in anticipation.  

“ _This_?   _How_?!”

"The Techno Power uses a combination of centripetal  _and_  centrifugal force to create a dizzying effect; but at the same time, it can give the rider an  _unbelievably_ accurate impression of independent flight, by Lilin standards, of course.”  

“What,  _really_?”

“Yup.”  Marianne confirmed, just as the ride slowed to a stop and the ticket-taker called for the next group.  “Let’s go!”

Dragging Bog behind her, Marianne paid their fare and grabbed the purple seats before anyone else could snag them.  The overheard bar lowered, securing them, and with a drop in the platform beneath their dangling feet, and a firm lurch, they began to spin.  

Higher and higher they rose, and faster and faster they went; shooting out over the costumed throngs, and then darting back in a wide swoop, with the dance tracks thumping, and the lights streaking through their vision.  Bog was soon whooping and cheering, with glee.  If flying was anything like  _this_ , he couldn’t  _wait_  to start his lessons.

He should’ve chosen his expressions more carefully, for suddenly, without warning, Marianne used her super-human strength to shove  _both_  of their shoulder restraints back up.  

“ _Marianne_!”  Bog cried in alarm, hanging onto the side rails for dear life.  “What the hell are ye  _doin_ ’?!”      

“Teaching you to  _fly_!”  Marianne yelled over the screaming wind and loud music.

“ _Now_?!”

“Obviously!”  

“This seems like an  _insanely_  bad idea!”

“No, it’s not!  You’re familiar with the sensation of flying as a Lilin now!  And the thrust is being provided  _for_  us!  We’re gonna use The Techno Power as a launch pad!”

“You’ve lost yer bloody  _mind_!”

“Don’t worry, Bog, we do this all the time!  It’s how  _Dawn_  taught  _Sunny_!”

Bog gulped and was dismayed when he glimpsed the ride’s teenage operator, completely oblivious to the  _serious_  safety hazard going on at the moment.

“I won’t let you fall, Bog!  You  _know_  that!”  

He met her eyes, so bright and earnest, and his faith was stirred to a typhoon.  He  _did_  know that; she would protect him, no matter how afraid he was.  He was safe with her,  _always_.  

“…Al-…alright!”  

Marianne nodded and pried his closest knuckle-white hand off the side rail.

“Ready?!”

“No!  But go ahead, anyway!”

“On my count, we jump!  One…two…THREE!!!”

Screwing his eyes shut, Bog leapt out of his seat, just as their vehicle swung upwards, the momentum flinging their bodies into the air.  Marianne's grip was unrelenting, but she did not support him.  On instinct, he willed his wings to appear and wildly flailed them about like a bird having a seizure.  

“FLY, BOG!   _FLY_!!!”

Pounding heart in his throat, in the span of a few sparse seconds, Bog forced himself to guide his spirit; to concentrate on the motion of the ride he’d just left behind, and on how much he’d enjoyed the sensation.  How it had felt so exhilarating and  _free_!

That must’ve done the trick, for his wings began to guide  _him_  instead of the other way around.  His trajectory changed, and his body weight was being carried.  It was still clumsy, but enough to make Bog dare to take a peek.  

They’d left the party behind, apparently without anyone’s notice, and were soaring over the quiet land. From their altitude in the vast, shimmering sky, their town looked like scattered strings of diamonds and pearls over a black velvet canvas.  The moon was  _enormous_  and gleaming silver through the sparce, wispy clouds.  

The sights and feelings were  _beyond_  addictive and  _thrilling_!  Thousands of tickling bubbles were rushing through his limbs and guts like champagne, making him pant and pick up speed as he smoothly rotated like a corkscrew, yet he’d never experienced such peace and contentment before.  It was the first time he’d ever truly felt like a  _King_!    

In an elated daze, he glanced around to see how his four wings were…rapidly twitching back and forth to create flight, while Marianne’s two were elegantly fluttering, and her lithe form was haloed by the glittering stars like some kind of…

…dark  _angel_.    

_Damn, I fucking LOVE her!_

Their eventual landing in a secluded forest clearing wasn’t stellar.  Overwhelmed, Bog lost his footing and rolled into the grass, pulling Marianne with him.

“You  _did_  it, Bog!  I  _knew_  you would!”  She praised, sitting up to card her nails thought his tousled hair. “That was  _amazing_!”

Chest still heaving in awe, Bog could do little more than say:

“… _Wow_.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” Marianne snickered.  “Like great sex, huh?”

“Well, now…I dorn’t know. It  _has_  been a  _while_.”

She lightly punched him in the shoulder for the tease.

“…Ye lied to me again, though; about the cravin’.”  He murmured gravely after a stretch of companionable silence.  

Marianne flinched away, the familiar dread stabbing her insides, but Bog was smiling as he reached for her…

“I never  _once_  stopped cravin’  _you,_ Tough Girl.”

<3

* * *

 _You alone are what my soul needs~_  
_You know the thirst is taking over~_  
_Hardly breathe, I am in urgent need~_  
_You know the thirst is taking over~  
_ _The thirst is taking over~_


End file.
